Riding the White Horse
by totallynutso
Summary: When Face disappears after a mission, the team fear the worst. Team fic. Warnings for violence and whumpage.


Clandestine missions were their speciality. Any shit job that came along, General Morrison knew he could count on Colonel Hannibal Smith and his boys to get it done... Fast.

This latest mission fell right into that category. A new rebel Iraqi faction was emerging, already claiming responsibility for the horrific and bloody deaths of a number of American soldiers, and the kidnapping of three more... Using women and _children_ as suicide bombers... It had been decided that this group needed to be neutralised. Quickly... And quietly.

Morrison went to Hannibal first. It was a hush-hush mission, the powers-that-be needing this to be done covertly... Take out the leader, eradicate the threat... rescue the American soldiers if they could.

Bite the head off the snake... and get out unseen, undetected, leaving no trace the US army were ever involved.

oOo

So, mere days later... clad in Iraqi uniforms, Hannibal and his team were headed towards their destination – an encampment four hundred kilometres north-west of Baghdad. They had the cover of darkness for most of the journey, and when dawn broke, BA slowed the old vehicle down to let Face out.

The plan was two-fold. Face was to take out guard towers from a distance of around a thousand yards, and once hell broke loose, pick off any opportunistic absconders while Hannibal, BA and Murdock slipped into the chaos, and headed for the leader, silently eliminating anyone that got in their way. And if they were still alive, rescue the American soldiers.

Then rendezvous once the job was done.

"Be careful," Face muttered as he climbed out of the vehicle.

"You too, Facey," Murdock said softly, wrapping a patterned scarf around his friend's neck.

"Oh, don't worry, buddy, we'll be back home before you know it," Face smiled at Murdock and grabbed his sniper rifle from the rear seat.

Hannibal tapped his watch. "Twenty minutes, lieutenant," he reminded him. Twenty minutes, and Face hit the towers. He nodded once.

"Catch you on the flip side," he grinned and sprinted off to his position. BA pulled the vehicle away.

That was the last they saw of Face... four days ago.

~A~

Darkness fell quickly along with the cold temperature, and Murdock pulled his jacket around him tighter. BA grunted as he slid down the rocks and crouched next to him and Hannibal.

"I count eleven sentries," he said softly, "concentrated around the central buildin'. Reckon if Faceman's here, he'll be in there, Hannibal."

"Yeah, that's a fair assumption," agreed the colonel. They had no concrete intel on the camp, and no definite evidence that Face was even there, just a rumour, but it was all they had, and they had to act on it. "Okay, we'll wait until they go out on patrol, then slip in."

The team watched the small active compound until they recognised a routine. Every three hours, a good portion of the men would mount up on vehicles and disappear on patrol, leaving three guards visible around the buildings. There were only four structures, one central and three smaller ones, which the team had deduced were supplies, bunk room and ammunition. That building was their first target, with Murdock and his backpack of C4. The compound itself was surrounded by a poorly erected wooden fence, with one entrance. Hannibal's plan to get in involved a tyre iron and some stealthy midnight wood-shop manoeuvres on the opposite side, out of sight of the guards.

All they had to do now, was wait.

Their covert mission to take out the rebel faction had been a success. With no leader and half the group dead, the rest had scattered, and the three American soldiers had been rescued - alive, if not battered.

Face never made it to the rendezvous, though.

When Hannibal found Face's sniper rifle with his dog tags wrapped around it, hastily hidden under the sand and a pile of rocks close to where he was positioned for the mission, his heart had frozen in fear. He knew he'd been taken. Captured. An immediate extensive search, though, lead to a dead end, and with supplies low, they reluctantly returned to the base.

He'd been missing for four days with no intel as to his whereabouts, any leads leading to zilch. The team was exhausted looking for their team mate, fears that Face was dead frighteningly becoming more likely, but they still refused to give up.

Murdock wasn't sleeping, and BA growled at anyone that came near him. They needed to get back out there to look for Face, but Hannibal didn't know where to start.

General Morrison was about to list the lieutenant as MIA.

It wasn't until a patrol came barging into Hannibal's quarters that the colonel held any hope of finding Face at all.

Rumours. Fucking rumours. A young private, apparently fluent in the local lingo, had overheard a conversation in a small market square in one of the nearby village's. An American was being held in a camp near Fallujah. It was just a rumour, but Hannibal grasped it. A plan was quickly made, and within an hour, the team was headed towards Fallujah.

Hannibal just prayed Face was still alive.

~A~

His dark cell was damp and musty, and stank of urine and vomit, his own mess adding to the already pungent aromas. He had been dragged into the little room soon after he'd been discovered...

After taking out the two towers, and a few fleeing insurgents, Face's position had been compromised by a passing patrol. Dumb luck. He'd quickly yanked off his dog tags and buried them with his rifle, not even able to radio for help with the team on radio silence. His gut had turned when five gun barrel ends were thrust in his face, and the guttural orders demanding he get his hands up rang in his ears. Face spared a moment's thought for Hannibal, Murdock and BA... his team... his only family... closing his eyes and whispering an apology they would never hear.

He'd been smacked stupid until his head pounded and throbbed, stripped down to his underwear, and socks – which made Face chuckle – and cuffed to a hard plastic chair, the only thing in the room apart from his clothes, which he knew were piled in the corner, mocking him as his skin prickled in the damp, dark cold.

Being tied half naked to the chair, Face decided, had to be the worst part of being captured, though... even worse than the beatings. He could take the beatings, pain was just a state of mind. It was even worse than being injected with fuck knows what! The smell of opiates cooking gave him some clue, but he suspected once or twice it might've been sodium pentothal too, the truth serum drug, by the way he reacted to it, the way he'd vomited over his captor's shoes, but they didn't even ask him any relevant questions, and it just made him feel really drunk, anyway. Face scoffed through a mouth full of blood at the memory. He didn't even know how long he'd been there, hours, days... they just bled into each other.

No, being tied to a chair was even worse than torture. It was a special torture, he decided. With no ability to move, his muscles had all cramped up, and _that_ sucked.

Sucked nearly as much as knowing he'd probably never see his friends again.

The ominous creak of wooden floor boards alerted Face that he was no longer alone, and he squinted in the direction on the noise, yelping when a light suddenly flickered on and the bright fluorescent glare sent waves of pulsing shards of agony through his eyeballs and he slammed his eyes shut.

"Fuck!" he croaked, throat raw from days without water. They were back again.

Along with the lamp, a trolley was wheeled into the room this time, and Face attempted a quick peek at it. "Room service? Aw guys... you shouldn't ...have," he slurred impetuously blinking rapidly getting used to the million watt bulb burning holes through his eyelids. That earned him a hard backhand that knocked his head sharply to the left. Fresh blood filled his mouth and he sighed when he felt yet another tooth come loose.

He glared at them through his one good eye, the other bruised and swollen, silly smirk on his face he knew would just piss them off, and clenched his fists, feeling the stickiness of the blood from his raw and abraded wrists between his cold numb fingers. Inwardly he cringed, if Hannibal saw him deliberately goad his captors, the man would rip him a new one for sure. But, if he was going to die, he wasn't going down begging and crying.

"Any waffles?" he asked, his smile bloody and blasé, eyebrows dancing. His captors, three of them, all ignored him. "'Cause if you ...have, would love... some s-syrup with 'em. 'Course... probably still... taste like... shit," he chuckled mirthlessly, breathy voice uneven and hoarse, blood drooling down his chin and chest.

A bucket of cold water was thrown over his head and Face jerked, sucked in a painful breath, coughed and spluttered.

"Smell like shit," one of the soldiers spat, his guttural accent sharp and blunt. Face blinked rapidly, tongue hastily licking what moisture he could from his sore and cracked lips.

"Yeah, well... you smell like... shit, too... motherfu-"

Face's head snapped back harshly with the force of the punch, he felt an ominous crack in his jaw and realised with dread that the bastard had hit him with something hard and metal, getting a quick glimpse of the knuckleduster as it caught the light. He carefully moved his tongue around the front of his mouth, and yes, two of his front teeth were broken. Fuck. He spat the broken teeth and a mouth full of blood at the guy, who then hit him again, this time slicing open the flesh across his cheekbone. Face groaned as blinding stars danced behind his eyes.

Another captor then grabbed his shoulders and roughly pulled his head back, hand cruelly yanking his bloody matted hair, and Face could see the third one unbuckling his belt...

And he knew what game they were going to play today.

"Anythin' you... put in my mouth... you lose, fucker," he warned harshly, baring bloody teeth menacingly, and the man's hand faltered on his zipper.

The soldier in front of him quickly barked an order, and after a heated exchange of hissed words, the zipper was pulled back up. Face swallowed hard, crisis averted for the time being. He head was released with a shove.

"You tell me your name, now?" The question made Face snigger and he sneered at the man. No, he wasn't going to do that.

"This is gettin' a... little old... now, don't you... think?"

The Iraqi cocked his head to the side and crossed his arms, and asked again, "What is your name?"

"Harry Houdini," replied Face, the name popping into his head. A swift punch to his left kidney had Face grunting painfully at the impact. He felt fresh blood warm his palms as his body jolted sharply and the cuffs tore into his wrists a little more. God, he was gonna be _pissing_ blood now. Fuck.

"Harry Hoonini?"

"Hou_dini_, you... fuckin' moron," Face spat breathing hard and carefully. He was sure a rib had cracked then, too.

The soldiers all chuckled for a moment until steel tight fingers gripped Face's jaw and wrenched his face up. "Tell me your name," the man growled lowly, eyes hard and flinty. Face ground his teeth and glared at him, grimacing at the waft of stale breath in his nostrils.

"Y'know... you could really... use a breath... mint," he answered stubbornly.

A second later, the soldier pulled back and straightened his shoulders, nodding to the other two in the room. Face blinked, his mind wondering what delights they had in store for him next... It wasn't long until he found out as a sour smell of burning filled the small musky room... the distinct smell of cooking heroin... again... and Face's heart clenched. He was running out of fight, running out of time... knew he'd probably ride that white horse to his grave.

"You will tell me your name," the soldier said matter of fact, his back still turned away, the other two still fiddling with a spoon over the flame.

"W-what's... _your_ name?" Face scowled at him. "Who are... you?"

The Iraqi leaned in close and narrowed his dark eyes. "I am the man who is going to kill you," he sneered, look of pure hatred on his face.

"Why?"

"Because you American," the Iraqi said matter of fact.

Face glared at him, contempt overriding fear. That was just beautiful, he thought bitterly. He was going to be murdered by an unscrupulous wanker, just like the rest of the ruthless bastards in this fucking country. He didn't even know if this particular bastard was a member of any of the known rebel factions. By the lack of respect from his men, Face didn't think so... just one more corrupt Iraqi out for himself. Face sighed.

"Then... why... why d'ya wanna... know my... name?" he asked wearily, eyes wide and fixed on the smoking orange glow again. Fucking arrogant amateurs, he thought sullenly. He didn't tell them the last time they drugged him... Wasn't going to tell them now...

"I like to know who I kill... For posterity," the man smiled dangerously. He turned and pointed to Face's bruised and battered chest. "You wear no tags, you are spy... A good kill."

"Nah, m'just a... tourist," Face shrugged. "Bad kill... not worth... anythin'."

"And yet you sneak around in the dark, dress like Iraqi soldier," the Iraqi mused.

"F-fancy dress party... Didn' win though... shit costume," Face grunted, spitting out blood. The soldier's face hardened and be barked at his men who quickly gave him a syringe full of pale liquid.

He waved it in front of Face's eyes. "You know what this is, don't you?"

Unfortunately, Face did. "I dunno... What's left... of your... charm an'... wit?" he said instead. The soldier growled and shouted out an order to his men, who instantly stopped laughing and grabbed a handful of Face's hair and yanked his head back.

His sore and cramped muscles screamed at the sudden brutal movement, but Face clamped his jaw tight and carefully schooled his features."

"You think you're clever?" the soldier spat and cruelly stuck the needle in the flesh of Face's neck. "You not clever, you stupid American _pig_!"

The heroin burned as it was forced into his body, the needle deep and sharp, and Face closed his eyes against the malicious sneers of his captors. In his already weakened state, he immediately felt the effects, and a moment of fear froze his heart as he realised the man had _emptied_ the full syringe into him, but then his cold skin flushed warm and he felt ...wonderful, the fear floating away on a tide of euphoric serenity. He smiled as his head lolled back.

"Now, tell me your name?"

oOo

The sickening thud of flesh impacting flesh made Hannibal's teeth grind as he neared the door to the central building. BA had already taken care of the three guards, and they silently found where Face was being held captive. Murdock, with the detonator to the charges he'd rigged inside the ammunitions dump, looked at the colonel, eyes wide and determined.

"Bossman?"

Hannibal pulled out his telescopic mirror and surveyed the room through the small barred window in the door. A cold mix of relief and anger slammed into his guts when he spied Face. He was alive, but the kid was tied to a chair, naked, except for his non-regulation black silk boxers and socks, and beaten to hell. Hannibal frowned when he saw Face jerk awake and then laugh and sag again.

"He's there," Hannibal hissed. "Three targets with him." He quickly made a few hand signs, telling his team where the targets were in relation to Face and they readied their weapons. "He's in bad shape, guys," the colonel said softly, worry showing for a second.

"But he's alive, right?" Murdock whispered. Hannibal nodded. Yes, he was alive.

They'd found him.

It was time to get the kid back.

oOo

It felt like he was under water, his body was so heavy, and his one good eye swam in an out of focus that it made him feel really sick. Face giggled again as the old nursery rhyme Row, Row, Row Your Boat filtered into his cloudy mind.

"Your name!" the Iraqi soldier shouted, frustrated that Face still hadn't said anything.

Face recoiled at the loud voice and his stomach rebelled. The soldier cried out in disgust as Face vomited blood and bile on his shoes again. The goon smashed his fist into the already battered face, shouting in outrage when Face just laughed and gurgled, "Row, row... row your boat... gently... down the... stream..."

"WHAT IS YOUR NAME?"

"Colonel Hannibal Smith."

The soldiers turned quickly at the cold hard voice behind them, and instantly fell dead, with three well aimed bullets right between their eyes.

"Merrily... merrily, merrily... merrily..." Face continued oblivious to what was happening in his little cell. Murdock ran forward and gently cradled his friends head in his hands, the bloody swollen state of it forcing tears to his eyes.

"Oh, Facey," he sighed brokenly, thumbs stroking over his cheeks, stubbly and sticky with blood.

"Murdock? S'you? Sing with me... c'mon," Face slurred. "Life is... but a... dream..."

Murdock swallowed hard, singing the last words with Face.

"Nice... dream, though," Face whispered and let his head fall heavily to the side.

"Facey? C'mon, buddy, stay with me," Murdock said and was trying to wake him as Hannibal and BA un-cuffed the lieutenant's hands and ankles from the chair. Face didn't stir when they carefully picked him up and laid him on the dirty blood splattered wooden floor.

"Captain?" Hannibal questioned when Murdock prised back the one good eye lid, Face's pupil was constricted.

"High on somethin', bossman," Murdock cringed. "They did a real number on him."

Quickly running his hands over Face's body, Hannibal catalogued the obvious injuries. Bruises, lacerations, broken or cracked ribs... Jesus. He opened the bruised mouth and winced. Face was going to be beyond pissed when he saw his teeth. Gently manipulating the area around the eye, Hannibal sighed shakily when he realised there was no real damage he could see, hopefully just tissue trauma.

"They gave him heroin," the colonel murmured, eyes flicking over to the trolley. Murdock looked up and scowled at the remnants of the drug and the syringe. Fucking shit! Face was headed for a world of hurt with the withdrawal.

The men startled when Face started to convulse and Hannibal and BA hastily turned him onto his side as he vomited again, groaning softly.

"Steady, kid," Hannibal soothed, palm rubbing circles on his back. A small snatch of lucidity emerged and Face's breath hitched.

"Boss?"

"Yeah, kid," Hannibal said softly, still rubbing.

"Feel... like shit," Face breathed, blood dribbling from his mouth, and passed out again. Hannibal frowned.

"BA, get his pants," He said pointing to the pile of Face's clothes in the corner. He stripped off his jacket and carefully, with the aid of Murdock, pulled it onto Face's naked body. BA pulled off the soiled black boxers and replaced them with the pants, shoving Face's feet into his boots and lacing them up tight, mindful of the red and chafed ankles.

"Lieutenant? Face..." Hannibal lightly tapped the man's cheek, avoiding the bruises and cuts there. Face groaned, his good eye opening and then drooping shut again. "Face, wake up, kid!"

"Bossman, we're about to have company," Murdock said urgently as he opened the door and heard the distant roar of rough Iraqi jeeps.

BA jumped up. "Fuck, c'mon Hannibal, we gotta go, man," he hissed as he helped the colonel pull Face up. They each yanked an arm over their shoulders, grimacing at the sticky blood smeared hands and wrists, and dragged the lieutenant out of his cell.

"Get the detonator, Murdock," Hannibal said. Murdock nodded and retrieved the small device from his pocket. They made it beyond the edge of the camp just as the jeeps arrived, and ducked behind the same crop of rocks as before. Hannibal and BA gently propped Face against a boulder and Murdock flicked the switch. The explosion lit up the sky for a few seconds, totally obliterating the camp.

"Pretty," Face whispered, smiling. Murdock gently wiped the bloody drool from his chin. "Like... fireworks."

Hannibal leaned down and cupped his XO's face. "Face, you with us? We need to get outta here, now. Face?"

"Hi... Hannibal," Face grinned, his broken teeth digging into his already split lip. Blood ran freely again and the colonel tenderly thumbed it away.

"BA," Hannibal sighed and between them, they hoisted the high-as-a-kite man up, and all but dragged him to their waiting vehicle, safe in the knowledge no one would be following them.

oOo

Face slipped in an out of consciousness all the way back to base, moments of pain filled lucidity quickly followed by moments of giggling that wrenched at Murdock's heart. BA pushed the vehicle to its limit as Hannibal set to work cleaning his lieutenant's wounds, while the pilot kept him awake and tried to get Face to drink water.

"C'mon, Facey, keep your eyes open," he said as they drooped closed again. Face snapped them open, focus clearing for a second before they clouded over again.

"Ten minutes," BA called from the driving seat. Ten short minutes to the base... Ten more minutes...

"You hear that, Facey? Only ten minutes, then you'll be in a nice cosy bed, with all those cute nurses givin' you bed-baths," Murdock said and stroked the bloody matted hair from Face's forehead before tipping the canteen to the bruised lips again.

"Mmmm... cute. You're... cute, Muuurdock..." Face slurred. The water dribbled down his chin and he giggled again, before suddenly frowning hard, his body stiffening.

Hannibal quickly framed the kids head in his hands, forcing Face to look at him. "Ride it out, kid, stay with us," he said when Face sobbed out in pain, his body jerking as every breath felt like red hot pokers searing into his lungs. It was no fun having bust ribs.

Then just as fast, Face slumped sighing drowsily, limbs heavy and his eyes swimming in and out of focus.

"Jesus, kid," Hannibal breathed and looked at Murdock, fear and concern reflected in his eyes.

BA raced their vehicle through the base, honking at any unsuspecting pedestrian unlucky enough to be in his way, and within minutes, he slammed on the brakes outside the medical facility.

"Okay, carefully does it," Murdock frowned when Hannibal none too gracefully slid Face from the back seat, his head lolling like a rag doll. BA ran ahead and grabbed a doctor and a gurney.

"Beaten, bust ribs, bruised, broken teeth, and injected with heroin," Hannibal listed to the doctor as his XO was wheeled inside.

"Okay, we'll take it from here," the doctor said and the team was stopped at the trauma room doors.

"Fuck!" Murdock exclaimed and sat down with a thump. BA's brow rose. The pilot rarely used profanity.

"He'll be alright, man," the big man said softly, "You'll see."

Hannibal looked towards the trauma unit again and nodded. Yeah, Face would be just fine.

He had to be.

~A~

"Three cracked ribs, bruised kidneys, an assortment of contusions and lacerations, small orbital hairline fracture, broken teeth, twenty-two stitches, borderline malnutrition and dehydration," Murdock read from Face's chart, his voice low and hard. "And that's not includin' the heroin." He flipped the page and scowled. "Oh, lookee here... Heroin present in his blood work, and sodium pentothal, too." Murdock blew out a harsh breath. "Fuckers used the truth drug on 'im!"

Hannibal blinked at that. Shit. He took the chart and looked for himself before looking at Face, who was still blessedly unconscious in the bed. BA growled, pacing the small room.

The colonel replaced Face's chart and gently stroked the kid's hair, eyes taking in the battered image in front of him. The doctors had reassured them there would be limited scarring, but the tissue was still very swollen, and Face looked like he'd gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson.

The cuts and bruises would heal though, Face's doctor told them his injuries were relatively minor, considering what he went through... it was the heroin withdrawal they were worried about. The results of Face's blood tests told them he hadn't been given a lethal amount, but he'd been given enough and would suffer nausea and depression in the next few days as the drug left his system.

Nausea and depression. And, of course, the cramps, the insomnia, the fever, the vomiting... Hannibal knew about withdrawal. Knew about it all too well. He shuddered as those long forgotten desperate memories rushed to the front of his mind. It was a long time ago, but he could still feel the sting of the needle, the bruising grip as he was held down... deliberately addicted. Could still remember the painful withdrawal...

"God, Face," he whispered knowing the kid had it to come. "We'll get you through."

oOo

Face felt detached, like he was sinking. Sounds blurred together and invaded his ears, but he couldn't make anything out. He felt numb and listless, too heavy and drained to even try.

"Facey?"

That name. He knew that name... Was that him? Face drifted towards the sound, the soft dulcet Southern tones, feeling safe for a reason he couldn't quite grasp...

"Facey, you in there?"

"Hmmmnnn..."

"Hey, bossman, I think he's wakin' up..."

His head span as consciousness crept up on him, making him suddenly aware of pain... and God, he hurt. Face moaned softly, his breath coming out in sharp gasps.

Warm hands cupped his face, and that soft Southern drawl sounded again. "Facey, c'mon buddy, come back to us."

The light burned his retinas the first time Face opened his eyes and he slammed them close again. A sudden cacophony of hushed urgent voices assailed his senses and he visibly winced, trying to escape.

"No. No, no, nonono... Facey, c'mon, the light's off, now... Open your eyes 'gain," he was softly coaxed. Face tried again, and he found the muted glow of a single side lamp easier.

"Hey Facey, s'good to see ya," Murdock smiled, his gentle blue-green eyes calming and tender. Face slowly blinked.

"Mu... d'ck?" God, was that his voice? Face swallowed and winced at the raw pain of his rough, dry throat.

"Oh, here, wait a minute, Facey..." And Murdock moved away... too fast. It made Face's vision swim and he closed his eyes again.

Something plastic nudged his lips and he instinctively turned away.

"S'okay, Facey, s'just water," Murdock murmured. "Sip slowly..."

Cool soothing water wet his dry and cracked lips, and Face tentatively snaked his tongue out, trying to capture the moisture. A strong warm palm cupped the back of his head and gently lifted, and Face took a sip. God. Bliss. Fresh, cool... delicious... He sucked in more, swallowed faster, needing more...

"Hey, slow down," a voice urged... a voice with an Irish lilt. The water was taken away and Face frowned. "Slower... Drink slower, kid."

The blessed water was returned and Face consciously sipped slowly. He pulled away after a few moments and opened his eye – his one good eye, and brought his hand up to his face in panic to see why the other one wasn't working.

"Oh, hey, take it easy," that voice murmured softly as his bandaged and sore wrist was captured. "Your eye is fine, just a little swollen, kid."

"Boss?" Face whispered when his vision cleared and he focussed on the man over him.

"Welcome back," Hannibal smiled softly. Face smiled back, his sore lips pulling, but he didn't care. He was back... He was safe.

"Hey, Facey," Murdock grinned and grabbed his hand, returning the gentle squeeze Face offered.

A warm sensation on his foot made him look down and he saw BA rubbing it through the sheets. Face smiled and BA nodded... the big guy's way of saying welcome back, too.

oOo

Twenty four hours later...

"Lieutenant Peck!"

The loud exclamation made Hannibal wince and he walked faster to Face's room.

"I don't _want_ to eat that shit!"

"Sir-"

"Get OUT!"

The poor flustered nurse almost ran into the colonel as she hurried out of the room, mumbling a quick apology. Hannibal steadied her and frowned at the dull thud of something being thrown against a wall.

"What's going on?" he asked the nurse. She blew out a frustrated breath and quickly glanced back at Face's room.

"I know it's the withdrawal, sir, but I hate to see him like this," She sighed. "Lt Peck is normally so... well, flirty, happy... He's still refusing to eat, sir."

That news wasn't unexpected, but it wasn't good. Face hadn't eaten anything in nearly a week, and the doctors had told Hannibal that if he didn't start soon, they'd force feed him with a nasogastric tube. Hannibal almost had second thoughts about taking Face home – his reason for today's visit, but he brushed that aside. Face needed support, needed his friends. More than food right now.

He nodded to the nurse and let her go.

Face looked miserable. The swelling around his eye had lessened slightly but the bruising had begun to turn a deep purple colour, which morbidly complimented the puffy red stitching across his cheekbone and dark healing splits on his lips. He was sat on the bed, hugging his knees and staring listlessly at nothing, his IV's tangled in the bed sheets. Hannibal approached slowly, stepping over the plastic upturned bowl of oatmeal on the floor.

"Face?" He waited for a response. When none came, Hannibal carefully placed a palm on his knee. The reaction was immediate. Face jerked and scooted back on the bed. "Hey, kid, it's me... Face!"

"No! Get off me!" Face gasped and squeezed his eyes tightly shut breathing hard. Hannibal quickly untangled the IV lines for fear Face would rip them out, before trying again.

"Face," he said softly, not touching this time. It worked. Face opened his eyes and they filled with tears.

"Oh God, Hannibal," he whispered brokenly, the tears teetering on his lashes. He angrily swiped at them, and blew out a harsh breath and gathered his knees to his chest again, holding on to them for dear life.

Hannibal sat on the bed and waited for the man to look at him. "Hey, kid," he tried softly when Face showed no sign of moving apart from a slight rocking motion. He sighed and closed his eyes, decided on another tactic... "I know what you're going through," he admitted carefully.

Face stilled immediately.

"I know about... withdrawal, know how hard it is, know how you want another... fix to make the hurt go away," he carried on, eyes not leaving Face's down-turned head. "It gets better, though, kid, I promise." Hannibal licked at his dry lips. "I was...young. Covert mission in... well, that's classified. My team was captured, and they addicted us... for complacency," he hedged. Truth was, they were addicted for fun, passed around like two-bit whores. Hannibal looked down and frowned, an old ache, long hidden away, resurfacing.

"Boss?" A tentative hand on his arm roused Hannibal and he looked up to see scared, concerned blue eyes. He covered the cold hand with his own and smiled sadly.

"It does get better, kid. Trust me," he said softly and Face nodded.

A few moments passed before Face shuddered and folded in on himself, stomach cramping. He moaned and sweat broke out on his body, chilling him through. "Fuck," he hissed and stumbled off his bed, arms clutched around his ribs, and headed for the small wash basin, IV's trailing.

Dry heaves left him trembling and weak and he slid ungraciously to the floor in a heap, scooting away from Hannibal when he tried to help. The colonel sighed and wet a wash cloth instead, rinsing the bowl out, too. He knelt down and gently wiped the kid's face.

"You know, you gotta eat, kid," he murmured. "Would make throwing up much easier when there's something _to_ throw up."

Face scowled at him.

Hannibal leaned back. "What say we get outta here, go home and get Murdock to cook us up something edible," he grinned, silently hoping Face would agree. A change of scenery might be a good thing now. Might get him eating...

Or not.

"Jus' leave me alone," Face mumbled miserably as his stomach cramped again. His head throbbed and he felt like he had the flu, was depressed and was... not... HUNGRY! Why did everyone want to make him eat?

Sitting down next to Face, shoulders bumping, Hannibal sighed. "They're gonna shove a tube up your nose and force feed you, Face," he said looking at the kid's thin arms. His weight loss was shockingly apparent. "You know this."

Swallowing hard, Face slowly let his head fall onto Hannibal's shoulder. He knew about the tube, the thought made him sick all over again, but he couldn't help it. Anything he even _thought_ about eating just made his stomach roll, and the dry heaves started...

He couldn't sleep, couldn't get comfortable, he hurt, he craved... He wanted to curl up and die.

"Why don't you let me sign you out and take you home," Hannibal asked softly, fingers gently stroking over the limp bony hands. "Softer bed, good company... better food..."

The door opened and Face's doctor walked in, eyes frowning until he saw them on the floor by the sink basin.

"Nurse Miller tells me you didn't eat your oatmeal, Lieutenant," he said, overlooking Hannibal's presence for the moment, concern and disappointment lacing his words. Face just ignored him, stared at nothing. "You know we talked about what would happen if you didn't start eating," he carried on regardless and Hannibal felt the kid tense slightly. "Lieutenant-"

"Look, doc, lemme take him home," Hannibal interrupted.

"Sir, I-"

"I know withdrawal, I know this... I can help him," Hannibal said sincerely, "better than you can here, in this place. He needs his friends to get through this."

The doctor looked at Face and back to Hannibal and frowned, pursing his lips. "It's against my better judgement, colonel. Lieutenant Peck sustained some pretty nasty injuries, coupled with the heroin withdrawal... I think it would be better he remain here, under my care... until he eats, at least."

Hannibal blew out a breath. He knew Face better than anyone else, knew the kid would fight them... He stood up, pulled the doctor to one side. "Look, doc, he'll fight you, and you'll end up having to _sedate_ him to force feed him... Is that really the _best_ care you can give?" he asked. "He's already refusing the methadone. You think he's gonna roll over and eat?" Hannibal offered the doctor a small smile. "The kid needs _not_ to be here. He needs to be with his friends."

The doctor frowned hard, but he also knew Lieutenant Peck, and his less than cooperative manner. The colonel was correct about his patient refusing the methadone to help with the withdrawal, refused it quite vocally, too. And no amount of reasoning worked with the lieutenant, he just screamed about addiction and no way was he being forced to take anymore fucking drugs! "Alright," the doctor decided, voice low and hard. "But if he relapses, you bring him back. And make sure he drinks. Severe dehydration is something we don't want to add to the list of problems." Hannibal nodded. The doctor sighed and scribbled his name on Face's chart. "I'll put together his meds and be back soon," he said and left them alone again. Hannibal knelt in front of Face and rubbed the bony knees.

"Hey, kid, c'mon, we're going home," he said and smiled when Face looked up.

"Home?"

Hannibal nodded. "Yep." He helped the kid up on wobbly legs, and helped him dress before Face could complain.

oOo

Face had pulled his hood low over his face and hid himself from everyone as Hannibal walked him out to his car, one of the base Hummer's with tinted windows. He felt anxious and jittery, and embarrassed, and hated it. Hannibal kept up a jovial banter, joking with him and anyone that approached, but they never slowed down. The colonel knew Face needed to get home fast.

It didn't take long to get to Hannibal's place, and BA and Murdock were already there waiting. Face sighed as he looked out of the Hummer window to see his friends looking compassionately at him. He didn't want that, didn't need that, and he closed his eyes.

"He okay, bossman?" Murdock asked softly as Hannibal opened Face's door. Face opened his eyes and looked at his friend, attempting a smile that felt tight and forced. God, he was so not okay.

"Hey, buddy."

"Facey, good to have ya home," Murdock beamed and started to help Face out of the Hummer. Face stopped and held up a halting hand. He could climb out himself, goddamnit.

"Sorry, s'the drugs," he apologised when he saw the flash of hurt on Murdock's face. "Just... I'm okay. I can... walk by myself."

BA stepped to the side as the three men made their way through the front door, and Face's stomach immediately rolled at the savoury smells wafting from the small kitchen.

"Fuck," Face hissed lowly willing his stomach to hold on a few seconds longer. Hannibal saw the colour drain from the kids face, frowned and pushed in front, opening the bathroom door and pulling up the toilet seat, just in time for Face to dive down and start retching.

"Okay, boys, leave us a minute," the colonel said and closed the door on two concerned worried faces. He gently rubbed Face's back as the spasms wracked through the exhausted body.

"God, boss, m'a mess," Face murmured, forehead on the cool toilet rim. Hannibal handed him a damp cloth and some water.

"No, kid, you're injured and sick," Hannibal corrected softly. Face scoffed derisively. He was weak and pathetic. "Any better?"

Face swallowed and grimaced. "What's Murdock cooking?" he asked.

"Smells like chicken soup," Hannibal guessed and Face smiled this time. Trust Murdock to make him chicken soup. "I guess it's good for what ails ya."

"I wish it was," Face sighed, wanting to stop feeling so crap, so useless...

"You think you can eat some, kid?" Hannibal asked as he sat on the edge of the tub, hopeful expression on his face. Face closed his eyes and shook his head apologetically.

"No, still feel nauseous... Could lie down for a bit, though," he said and looked up at Hannibal. The colonel nodded and helped Face up, following closely as he directed the man into his own bedroom. Face stopped in the door way, confused.

"Boss-"

"Trust me, Face, just lie down here and get some rest," Hannibal urged gently and pulled the blanket down of his un-regulation king size bed, the one Face had scammed for him the first year they were posted in Iraq. Hannibal felt better if he knew Face was close, if the kid needed him in the night. BA and Murdock were bunking in the guest room this week.

Face lay down with a sigh and blinked up at Hannibal when the man pulled the cover up to his shoulder. Compared to the hospital room, he felt safer here and maybe he could sleep... maybe. "Thank you," he whispered, eyes damp and heavy.

"You're welcome, kid," Hannibal smiled and in a tender gesture, leaned down and kissed his temple. "Get some rest."

Face watched as Hannibal left, closing the bedroom door behind him, an irrational feeling of loneliness swallowing him in the semi darkness of the early evening. He sighed and rolled onto his back, sucking in a sharp breath when his ribs protested. He lay like that for... he didn't know how long. Time drifted as his mind raced, jumbled, mixed up.

He was a Ranger, for crying out loud, and here he was... pitiful and being treated like fragile glass. And what was that kiss? Face touched his forehead, blew out a hard breath... God, he was a _Ranger..._ he could handle a little drug addiction. Right?

Right? But... What if he... Just a little...

No!

He could feel his heart thumping fast behind his sore chest and pulled his knees up when the cramps in his stomach twisted painfully. Face squeezed his eyes shut, ignoring the screaming throb of his bruises, and dug his finger nails into his palms, fists rubbing his aching abdomen... trying hard not to think about the persistent cravings that hounded him, taunted him.

The way it would take away the pain, make it all go away... make it all better...

"_He can get you some, Peck... you know he can..." _his inner voice taunted him_. "You're weak, Peck. Another hit will make you strong... You're a Ranger and look at you. You need it. You want it..." _

NO!

Loud hissing filled his ears and he quickly pressed a pillow over his head, muffling the pathetic gasps wanting to escape. Face wanted to cry. He pressed harder, cutting off the air, letting the black void engulf him... No more tears. No more taunting. No nothing...

"Fuck, kid!"

The pillow was yanked away and Face automatically gulped in a lungful of air.

"What the fuck are you doin'?"

Face kept his eyes closed, blocked out the anger in that frantic voice. He felt fingers on his throat and a warm palm on his brow, heard Hannibal blow out a long breath. The hand on his head didn't move.

"Jesus, Face," the colonel breathed and sat down on the bed, fingers gently carding through the limp caramel curls. When he came to check on the kid, his heart nearly jumped out of his throat at the sight on the bed. Face pressing the pillow onto his head so hard...

He knew the kid didn't have a death wish, knew it was the withdrawal, but Jesus... He cursed himself. He should've known better than to leave him alone so soon.

"I'm sorry, kid," he said softly, startling slightly when he felt Face touch his thigh. He looked up to see miserable washed out blue eyes watching him. "I... I brought you your meds."

Face slowly tracked his eyes towards the bedside table and saw a glass of water and two bottles of pills. "No methadone," he mumbled determinedly, a touch of fear in the rough voice. Hannibal nodded, closing a calming hand over Face's shoulder.

"No methadone, kid, just your pain killers and an antibiotic. Here..." Hannibal urged Face to prop himself up a little and handed him the glass. Face's hand shook, but he resolutely held it steady, watching Hannibal shake out his pills. "Drink all of that."

It was slow going, the cool water making his empty, sore stomach ache even more, but Face obeyed the order and drank the whole glass. He just hoped it would stay down.

"You want some chicken soup? Murdock kept it warm for you," Hannibal asked. "Might help those pills settle a little better, kid."

"Yeah, sure," Face answered blankly. He didn't really want any, but if it kept Hannibal away from him, left him alone...

But he didn't want to be left alone. Christ. What did he want?

Hannibal smiled at him and casually patted the hand on his thigh. "Great, I'll get Murdock to bring you a bowl. I'll be back in a second, stay there, okay?"

Nodding slightly, Face forced his mouth to smile, feeling his damaged lips pull and sting, a smile that quickly fell when Hannibal left again... to get him the goddamned soup he didn't want.

Clutching his ribs, Face heaved himself off the bed, swayed for a second or two as the room span wildly, and shuffled into the en suite bathroom. He locked the door.

Tired, pale, lifeless eyes stared at him in the mirror and Face started to shake. He catalogued his injuries, not able to get a good look until now, and gasped at the state his face was in. Against the harsh, unforgiving light of the bathroom, he looked so gaunt... with a bruised eye, slashed cheek, and his teeth... Fuck! He was a complete mess. He lifted his shaking fingers and probed the puffy tissue around his eye, noticing the bandages around his wrists. Add all that to the persistent throb in his chest thanks to cracked ribs, the opiate withdrawal...

A sob bubbled up in his throat and he sat down heavily on the toilet seat, his legs suddenly giving way.

"Man up, Peck," he hissed to himself angrily. "You can get through this. You can do this..." He swallowed hard, repeating softly, "you can do this."

A tentative knock on the bathroom door sounded and Face looked up. "Facey? You in there?" Murdock knocked again, and Face heard a muted exchange of murmurs until a louder knock rapped on the door.

"Kid. Open the door," Hannibal said, his voice soft but demanding. The colonel was worried... there were razors in his cabinet... A soft snick and the door opened. Hannibal's eyes quickly glanced about before settling on his lieutenant. Face narrowed his eyes and sighed as he realised what Hannibal must've thought.

"You okay, kid?"

Face nodded and walked past his friends, smiling at Murdock on the way to the bed. He sat down and rubbed his face.

"Here, just like Mama Murdock used to make," Murdock smiled holding a bowl and a spoon. Face opened his eyes and looked at the soup. It did look tasty, with noodles and vegetables, and chicken breast, and his stomach caved and churned.

He _was_ hungry... he just couldn't eat.

Closing his eyes again, Face turned away. "God, I'm sorry HM, I can't," he whispered, sharp broken teeth clamping on his lip against the cramping pain. Murdock quickly put the bowl down and knelt in front of Face, gently thumbing his lip free of the death grip his teeth had.

"No, Facey, you're makin' your lip bleed," Murdock said softly and Face let go. The pilot wiped his chin. " S'okay 'bout the soup, you can have some later, if you like."

A glass of water appeared in his vision and Face blinked. "Here, kid, drink this," Hannibal offered instead. Face shook his head and felt rather than heard Hannibal sigh.

"Look, guys, I'm fine, just let me sleep, yeah?" Face offered, feeling anxious, embarrassed... smothered.

Hannibal sat down. "Okay, Face, but someone is staying with you," he said softly. Face blinked at him, irrational indignities warring with affection inside his mixed up mind, and then surprised himself by smiling and nodding thanks.

Murdock volunteered first watch and climbed into bed with Face, comforting hand on the el tee's arm. The pilot didn't sleep, just lay there quietly, watching Face fight the insomnia, and fidget restlessly.

"Talk to me," Face whispered softly when his mind wouldn't stop screaming. He turned and faced Murdock. "Please."

Stroking an errant strand of hair behind Face's ear, Murdock smiled. "Billy wandered into the officer's mess tent yesterday," he grinned. Face smiled back. "Now, although he told me he didn't do it, a whole box of double chocolate chip cookies went missin'..."

Face listened to the soft Southern voice of his friend, letting the words wash over him, and he finally fell asleep.

oOo

"He's not doin' so good, is he?" BA said into his glass of milk. Hannibal sighed and frowned.

"It'll get worse before it gets better, but he'll make it," Hannibal agreed. "He's a tough kid."

BA picked up another cookie. "Where'd Murdock get these from? They're good."

Smiling, the colonel glanced over in the general direction of his bedroom. It had been a good couple of hours since he'd left Face with Murdock and he wondered if the pilot had the magic touch and Face was resting. "He didn't say. Said Billy brought 'em home."

Chuckling, BA shook his head. "Crazy fool," he muttered fondly.

~A~

"Oh God, please, boss," Face cried desperately, eyes wild, his whole body hurting. "Please. Just a little... You can get some. I need it. I _need _it! Shit!"

It was after 2am and Face was in trouble. His body temperature was high, he was sweating profusely, and was in agony as the withdrawal gripped him hard. Murdock had managed to help Face get some much needed sleep, but it only lasted two hours before the kid had jerked awake in pain, confused and disorientated. Hannibal debated calling the doctor, but trusted himself to get the kid through it instead. All the doctor would do was sedate him and start him on the methadone, against Face's wishes, and draw the withdrawal out even longer.

"God! Please," Face whimpered as his energy seemed to flag. He pitched forward into the pillows, Murdock rubbing his back and talking soothing nonsense into his ear. BA past a hand over his mohawk and blew out a breath, while Hannibal paced the floor, glancing at the 'phone every three seconds.

It had taken the three of them to subdue Face as he thrashed about the room fighting his demons, alternately spitting curses and crying, begging them for another fix... anything to stop the pain. Fortunately, Face had not caused any further damage to himself.

"Please, HM... I-I need... P-please help me," Face whispered, eye's pleading. Murdock swallowed over the lump in his throat, held back the tears... and slowly shook his head.

"I'm so sorry, Facey, I can't," he said and the tears escaped when Face's body shuddered defeated as he sobbed.

Hannibal gently pulled Murdock away, supporting hand on his shoulder, and took his place, gathering Face up in his arms. BA put his own arm around Murdock, who clung on to the big man, trying hard to stop crying.

"Please, boss... I-I can't... anymore... Hurts..." Face gasped into Hannibal's shirt, fists gripping the material tightly as his body contorted with pain and cramps.

"You can do this, kid," Hannibal murmured into the damp hair.

"No. Nononono no..." Face shook his head, squeezed his eyes shut tight, grit his teeth and growled hard. He _couldn't_ do this. Didn't want to do this, just wanted to be left alone... just wanted it to end...

"God, just... Just leave me alone, pl-please... Lemme die," he whispered brokenly.

"Oh kid, you're not gonna die," Hannibal reassured him, arms tightening around the shaking body.

"But you won't help m-me... You're killin' me!"

Murdock gasped at Face's sudden outburst and Hannibal motioned BA to take him out of the room for a moment. Face was having a hell of a hard time with the withdrawal as it was, he didn't need to see what it was doing to Murdock, too.

The pilot was the kid's best friend, and it was tearing Murdock apart to see Face so broken.

All the fight left Face and he lay limply against Hannibal's chest, tired pain filled eyes staring at nothing. The colonel kept up a constant rubbing action with his hand against the sweaty back, feeling the rapid heartbeat beneath his palm. He waited a while until Face shuddered, jerking involuntarily.

"I know what this is, Temp," Hannibal said softly in the silence. He used Face's real name hoping that his words would get through. "The shakes, the cravings, the way it feels like everyone is against you... You feel like crawling into a hole and dyin', but you're stronger than that, Temp. You're brave, courageous, and I _know _you can make it through this. It does get better. Trust me. Trust yourself."

Face blinked, moisture gathering on his lashes. "T-tell me about th-the time you..." he whispered, remembering what Hannibal had said in the medical facility. "How... How did you get through it?"

"After we got out, I spent three weeks in medical with ...various injuries. They kept me there during the withdrawal. Cold turkey. I can't remember too much about that time, other than an intense feeling of disgust with myself for what I'd done."

"You were raped," Face guessed. Hannibal fell silent for a moment, debating whether to admit that or not.

"Yeah," he finally said and Face looked up at him.

"God, Hannibal, I'm sorry," he whispered, eyes filling. Face sighed. Compared to what Hannibal went through, his ordeal didn't even rate. He struggled to sit up feeling frustrated and sick. God, he was supposed to be a Ranger, and here he was... whining about a little addiction when Hannibal-

"Hey, where're you going?" Hannibal frowned. Face's fingers started bouncing off his thigh, agitated. The colonel stilled the hand and gently rubbed the cool digits. "Face?"

"Back... back at the camp," Face started softly, "they tried to get me... to... But I told them, anything they put in my mouth, they'd lose." He snuffed out a humourless snort. "A-after the drugs..."

Hannibal's heart clenched at this news. He knew about the torture methods the insurgents had, rape being one of them. It still tore at him to hear that Face-

"I didn't care anymore," Face finished so quietly Hannibal strained to hear the words. What was left unsaid screamed loudly in his ears... Face had given up, he was alone, and he was going to die... No hope left.

"Oh, Temp," Hannibal sighed.

"Where's HM?" Face asked deflecting Hannibal's sympathy quickly.

"He's with BA," Hannibal answered watching as Face winced and shifted uncomfortably.

"He okay?"

Cocking his head to the side, the colonel reached for Face's pain meds. "Yeah, just tired. It is the middle of the night, kid."

"I could use a shower."

These disjointed comments made Hannibal frown, but he played along. "Okay, kid," he nodded.

"On my own," Face murmured, eyes turning to Hannibal. The colonel shook his head.

"Not gonna happen," he said carefully, and waited.

"Fuck, Hannibal, I can take a fuckin' shower by myself!" Face exploded, standing up and falling heavily against Hannibal's five drawer chest. BA came barging into the room, eye's wide, ready to help, Murdock close behind on his heels. Face saw the pilots anxious eyes and stood still, hand to his mouth.

"Everything okay, boss?" BA said lowly. Hannibal nodded and watched as Murdock moved in to hesitantly take Face in his arms. The man went willingly, hiding his red shamed face in Murdock's neck.

"Hey, Facey, it's gonna be okay, you'll see," Murdock murmured softly, gently rubbing Face's neck and hair. He looked up and motioned to Hannibal to clear the bed. "C'mon, let's go lie down, again, yeah?"

Hannibal fetched a glass of water and shook out Face's meds, handing them to Murdock. Face took them without complaint and lay down, letting his friend snuggle up behind him. Murdock threw his arm over Face's body and held tight. "I'm here, Facey, try an' sleep."

Face's cheeks burned. After the way he'd treated his friends, they were still here. He curled into himself and started to cry, the tears falling faster when Murdock cuddled up tighter. He felt the bed dip, and then Hannibal was next to him, too, strong hand on his arm, head leaning against his, and then BA behind Murdock, reaching over... His friends, his family...

And maybe he would get through this after all.

~A~

"Yeah, he's fine, doc," Hannibal said on his cell, smiling over at Face who was slowly eating toast and jam, cut up into amusing shapes courtesy of Murdock. "Okay, see you in an hour." He snapped the cell off and picked up his coffee.

"That the doc?" Face asked, chewing on an airplane. Hannibal nodded. "He's coming over, isn't he?"

"Yep."

Face frowned, put the half eaten toast down. "He's gonna want me to see a shrink," he said softly, wincing at the mere thought of talking about what had happened. "An' if I don't..."

"They'll not sign you off on active duty," Hannibal finished for him. Face sighed heavily. "Look, kid, what you went through-"

"Is not something I wanna share with a psychiatrist." Face stood up easily and took his plate over to the sink. It had been a week, a whole week since that first night at Hannibal's. Face's injuries were healing nicely, all that was left was the colourful bruising, and he was just about over the withdrawal. He'd put on weight, too. He'd even had his teeth fixed.

"Face-"

"Can't I talk to you?" Face asked, adding softly, "You were there."

"For the aftermath, yeah, but-"

"I mean, would you mind if I talked to you, boss?"

Hannibal smiled. "No, kid, I wouldn't mind at all. You know that, I'm there for you, but... I'm not a psychiatrist."

"Who's not a psychiatrist?" Murdock asked as he and BA came through the kitchen door brandishing milk and tins of Alphabetti Spaghetti. Face smiled at him and took the tins.

"Dinner?" he asked amused.

"Yeah! We can spell out naughty words," Murdock snickered. "So, psychiatrist?"

"Me," Hannibal pointed to himself. Murdock laughed.

"Bossman, you ain't a psychiatrist," he rolled his eyes.

"I know that," Hannibal stated, "I was saying that I _wasn't_ a psychiatrist."

"Why?"

Blowing out a breath, Hannibal patiently explained to Murdock what he and Face had just been talking about.

"But, I think it's a great idea if Facey talk to you, bossman," Murdock said. "I know when I hafta talk to them army shrinks, they don't get it. They ain't seen the action. Know what I mean?"

Face nodded. He'd never known a psychiatrist captured, beaten, nearly raped, and addicted to heroin before. How then, in Face's eyes, was he qualified to help him deal with it? Fancy words, four Hail Mary's and a cherry lollipop?

Hannibal held up his hands when BA nodded too. "Okay, I'll talk to the doc, see if he'll get on board with that." He turned to Face and smiled.

"Thanks, boss," Face said softly.

oOo

The doctor agreed with Hannibal, as long as the colonel checked back with the base shrink with a report – an _honest _report on how the lieutenant was doing.

They hashed it out over two evenings at Hannibal's place, with coffee and whiskey chasers – not the wisest of beverages for an unconventional psych session, but they needed them.

"I think, at the back of my mind, I knew you'd come," Face admitted staring into the amber liquor in his glass. "I guess that's what kept me alive."

Hannibal nodded, not saying the obvious, letting Face do the talking.

"The first time they drugged me, I think they used sodium pentothal. Made me vomit... stuff always makes me vomit," he snickered softly. "I remember they asked me... stupid questions. Why was I there? Where did I get the uniform from?" Face looked up. "I didn't even know where _there_ was."

"We found you near Fallujah," Hannibal said.

"Fallujah? Oh, okay," Face frowned. No wonder they hadn't come sooner, he was captured _miles _away from there. He sipped his whiskey, absently rubbed at his bruised eye.

"We tried, Face, we looked-"

"No, no, it's okay, boss, I know," Face quickly interrupted. Hannibal nodded and motioned for his XO to carry on. "Yeah... So, then they beat me some more, but I wasn't playing ball, y'know, the usual. I think that's when they started with the heroin. Thought it would make me more... compliant." He laughed at that. "Me. Compliant. Yeah, right."

Hannibal smiled fondly and shook his head. "So, this was after three days?"

"Um, I dunno. How long was I there?"

"You don't know?" Hannibal frowned, cursing himself for not talking with Face sooner. Face shook his head.

"What with the withdrawal and everything, I just kinda didn't ask yet."

"You were missing four days, kid."

"Four days? Felt like five," he smiled lopsided. "I don't remember much after they started shooting me up with dope, vaguely remember singing..."

"What about the attempted rape?" Hannibal asked gently. Face frowned and pursed his lips.

"Attempted is the word. I'm okay with it, I think... well, not okay because they tried to... But I'm dealing with it. I'm dealing with it," Face said, knocked his whiskey back and smiled. He shifted on the sofa, brought a knee up. "The worst part of it all, boss, is what I put you through. I know it was the effects of the withdrawal, but... God." Face laid his cheek on his fist and looked at Hannibal. "HM was really spooked, wasn't he?"

"A little, but he also got you through some of the worst of it," Hannibal agreed.

Face nodded, remembering the comforting safe haven the pilot had given him. "Yeah. I need to thank him for that." He smiled softly. "I need to thank you all."

Hannibal rubbed Face's knee. "No need. That's what families are for," he murmured and watched as tears filled the earnest blue eyes, and in the silence of the evening, Hannibal realised what that meant to the young man. He pulled Face into a hug.

They'd be alright now, he knew that for certain. With the support of his family, Face would be alright.

oOo

"Murdock, you leave off my beer, fool," BA growled when the pilot inched his way towards the chilled bottle. "Get yer own!"

"Aw, but BA... s'way over there!" Murdock whined and pointed to the cooler on the other side of the room. He snuggled into the big guy tighter and lifted the popcorn bowl. "I'll share my popcorn?"

Sighing, BA reluctantly handed over his bottle, scowled affectionately at the pilot and grabbed a handful of the salty popped kernels. Murdock grinned.

They were all at Hannibal's waiting for Face to get back from his eval, hopefully with papers signing him off stand down. Top Gun was playing on the television, and Murdock kept up a running commentary on why flying an F-14 Tomcat upside down was fun, but the MiG-28's weren't even real, and why would they use F-5E Tiger II's instead of those fancy YF-21 Omega One's with their laser canons and brain control systems, he didn't know. Hannibal shook his head at that. Murdock had been watching Japanese anime again.

"_When are you going to stop those jockey's doing a fly-by on my tower at over 400 knots. I want somebody's butt, I want it now. I've had it!"_

Murdock giggled at the TV. "He wants somebody's butt!"

BA grunted and frowned at his now empty bottle. "Fool can 'ave your butt if you don't get up an' get me another damned beer," he mumbled. Murdock just shoved another handful of popcorn in his mouth.

The door opened and Face walked in. Hannibal looked up first, expectant expression on his face. "Well?"

"Full active duty," Face grinned, waving his paper. His team smiled back at him, Murdock springing off the sofa, leaving BA with a winded 'oof', and flinging his arms around the lieutenant's neck.

"That's great, Facey! Now we can go play in the dirt, again!" he exclaimed happily with a wiggle of his eyebrows. Face laughed and reached into the cooler. He sat down on a chair and uncapped the bottle of beer.

Hannibal pulled a chain from his pocket, Face's dog tags dangling off the end. "You'll be needing these then, kid," he smiled and threw them to his XO. Face caught them and fingered them thoughtfully.

"Thanks, boss," he murmured and slipped them on. "I don't suppose..." He didn't finish as Hannibal pointed towards the corner of the room, where his sniper rifle, cleaned and serviced, was propped up against the wall.

"Don't lose her again, lieutenant," Hannibal grinned. Face smiled back, mouthing thank you.

"You know, you coulda gone on missions without me," he said aloud, shrugging. "You didn't all need t'be on stand down, too."

Hannibal narrowed his eyes at the bowed head of his XO. He sighed. Clearly, as sound and level headed Face was, he still had a few deep seeded issues. Murdock, however, was first to jump in.

"What? No way. We're a team," he blinked. He pushed himself off the sofa again, the same winded 'oof' sounding loud over the noise of the TV, and knelt in front of his friend. "We're a team, Facey, family. Why would we wanna go without you?"

Chewing on his cigar, Hannibal smiled when he saw the huge grin form on the lieutenant's face. He glanced over at BA and saw the same smile.

"Thanks, buddy," Face nodded and let his friend pull him up and over to the sofa where he was pushed down, snugly ensconced in between BA and the pilot, popcorn at hand, beer within reach, and the movie playing with Murdock's resumed commentary.

Hannibal looked at his kids... looked at the happy relaxed face of his XO, and smiled. Life was good, again.

Until the next time, but they'd deal with that then.


End file.
